The Weekend that Build the Wall
It was the weekend that built the wall.
When those around me described their tumble and their fall.
It crept up on me, not making a sound.
Placing itself where it knew I'd be found.
Brick by brick they built and built,
a wall of issues like a patchwork quilt.
From afar, the artful work would make you catch your breath,
But from right up close, it reeked of death.
But it was I who aided the work
Carrying their water, like such a jerk.
In my paralyzed state of foolish bliss
It was my closeness to the Father that sunk into the abyss.
The Tuesday that Tore it Down
As fresh as one can be
walking in from a night that passed abysmally.
Expectation at an all time low
Reality stunting all that wants to grow.
And yet!
O Come, O Come! Emmanuel.
Come, and dig out a place in my heart to dwell.
From all that filth and stubborn guilt,
Create something that is only yours to be built.
Every life must be proceeded by death,
So let the funeral become my gasping life-breath.
And though I complain and complain,
I must know this is your domain.
And this is what I need to be told,
Onto this I must most tightly hold.
That you are God, and I am most certainly not.
And at the end of the day, I can live with that as my lot.
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